


Your Legs on the Dashboard

by jj112



Series: Are You In the Mood? If So, How Long, and For Who? [3]
Category: Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jealousy, Love, Multi, Non-Graphic Smut, Pining, Smut, Werewolves, graphic smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29514186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj112/pseuds/jj112
Summary: How can we accept the width of our love? How can we accept all whom it encompasses?Mercy and Adam collide.
Relationships: Adam Hauptman/Mercy Thompson, Samuel Cornick/Mercy Thompson
Series: Are You In the Mood? If So, How Long, and For Who? [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084835
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Your Legs on the Dashboard

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from BROCKHAMPTON and Dua Lipa's SUGAR (Remix)
> 
> “It's seven o'clock on the dot, I'm in the drop-top  
> Your legs on the dashboard (Your legs on the dashboard, oh)  
> So tell me what I'm to do whenever I'm missin' you?  
> Tell me, do you love me?”
> 
> when i tell you i messed up my Spotify Rewind for next year with how much i listened to this song. good god.

Mercy woke up alone, in her own bed. She had been expecting that, probably. Everything in the _after_ had been a bit blurry, but she could remember him holding her like she was something precious before she had fallen asleep. And yet, here she was - alone. The rejection sharpened in the weak early morning sun streaming through her blinds. She couldn’t let herself feel discarded, unmoored. Couldn’t let herself taste the sour acid creeping up the back of her throat at the thought of him not being here, with her, curled around her and keeping her warm even in this terrible heatwave. 

At least, not rationally.

She rolled over, twisting herself further into her sheets. Her quilt was folded neatly at the foot of her bed, so unlike how Sam actually kept his own sheets. She couldn’t hear Sam anywhere in the house, nothing but the low drone of her air-conditioning. That was good, right? She just needed a minute to bring her brain back to reality, and she would be fine. What happened yesterday was an anomaly. It had to be. It was not supposed to have happened and it certainly wouldn’t be repeated. It couldn’t. Just thinking about the look on his face made her insides twist. He had stared at her so nakedly as he kept his cum inside of her with his cock, then his fingers when he’d gotten too soft. If she’d tried to stretch he’d growled at her, a soft almost unconscious grumble until she stilled. 

Still.

She could enjoy the stretch of her muscles, sore from sex. That deep, delicious, internal feeling of being well-fucked. It was intoxicating. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had sex. Had it really been over a year since… well, she couldn’t remember his name. And she’d only gone to find him because of a particularly heated fight with Adam about her scrap car where the spots of color high in his cheeks had made her feel unhinged with want. She’d been so sure that was the fight that would have sent them tumbling towards...something. But it hadn’t. He’d just huffed in annoyance at her sass, his eyes warm even though the fight was still in his shoulders as he’d all but dismissed her. She’d left for the bar not ten minutes later, needing the feeling of a warm body between her thighs. 

No, no. She was not going to think about Adam. Because the minute she started picturing his face, the way his lips had looked so soft even when the rest of his face was hard with anger only served to make a pit of guilt as deep as sin fill her gut. 

The full body stretch flooded her mind with more memories of what she had, _no,_ what _they_ had done the night before. It wasn’t fair. Leaving her relationship with Sam in the past would have been so much easier if she didn’t know what he looked like coming inside of her. She slid one hand down between her legs, her arousal slick around her fingers. She brought them to her mouth, trembling, tentative, and the taste _Sam_ overwhelmed her. Her cunt clenched. Having him, and the evidence of what they’d done, inside of her all day? Not even the AC running at full-blast could cool her down now. She wouldn’t be able to function if she didn’t get rid of this tension before work.

She reached her hand back down to her cunt, stroking herself lightly. Doing this so soon after being with someone else always felt like a letdown. Mercy might be a coyote, a solitary creature, but that didn’t really matter - she craved intimacy, reveling in connection with another person, another soul. 

And they had been so connected. She could still feel the ghost of his lips on her stomach, on top of her tattoo, how he’d brought her to the edge with just his hands.

Her hand was too small in comparison, her fingers too thin. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how much pressure she needed. But she didn’t want her hands. She wanted his. He brought people to life and saved them from death with those hands, and he could also make her come with just a couple well-placed touches. 

_God,_ the way he’d _looked_ at her... 

Mercy shivered as a full-body wave of renewed desire swept across her. She knew Sam was attractive, had known that since she was barely more than a pup, awkward and young and still getting used to her new, woman’s body. And she knew Sam found her attractive, had known that since the first time he pulled her aside after some pack business when she was sixteen to kiss her up against a tree, his body hard and wanting against hers. 

Something about him, his presence, _now_ , was different. Her nipples tightened at the memory of his gaze, the way he’d stared so openly at her. She hadn’t expected that shift in him, the desire that she could still smell in the air, still stuck to her skin. He had wanted to _mate_ her last night, had wanted to _claim_ her as his.

And she knew why he hadn’t, which was the worst part of all. He knew as well as she did that she was already claimed as someone else’s mate, someone who she didn’t deserve and would never forgive her... 

If only they had had more time last night, Mercy would have wanted to show Sam how good her body was, how many ways he could draw pleasure from her. She would have shown him exactly how she liked it, the sharp and sweet pleasurepain she knew would drive him wild. 

She could feel her release, the tightening, the curl of her toes. She chased it like a hunter, like a predator. She never wanted to shatter so badly. Her chest ached, like there wasn’t enough air in her whole house for her, and a sob started to bubble up through her. She wished that Sam could be here, to see her, to see how much she wants him. She wished she could have memorized his face after she came for him last night, like she’d given him the most precious gift. Maybe if she showed him how good she was, she could keep him. 

She wished that Adam could be here, to see her, to see how good she could be for him. Maybe if he got to see it, see how her body would welcome him in like a holy pilgrim, he would forgive her for her sins. She wanted to know if the rest of him blushed just as red as his cheeks when he got overwhelmed, wanted to know the taste of the skin on his neck, to know how he sounded as he came.

Her traitorous brain spun wildly out of orbit, and she could see a vision, Adam and Sam knelt before her, their hot mouths moving in tandem against her thighs, both sets of eyes locked on hers and their hands moving as one up and - 

Mercy choked as she came against her own hand. Adam and Sam’s names were caught on the tip of her tongue. She floated, for one blissful second, in the afterglow. Then her throat grew tight, and she was choking again, the shame and possession that mixed in her stomach overwhelming her. 

And the loneliness. Not for the first time in her life, she just wished that she wasn’t alone, in the _after_. With her random partners, it didn’t matter if they physically slept next to her, curled their bodies around her. That was honestly more of a reminder of how alone she really was. After she came all she felt was alone, a pack of one. She wanted the care from last night, the attention that Sam had given to her. She wanted Adam to acknowledge what he felt for her, to keep her. 

She just wanted someone to _stay_. 

Sam hadn’t needed to say the words for her to know what he had been thinking. She knew how possessive he was, how many lives he’d claimed as his in his unending life. Maybe that was why they had never done that when she was younger. Because he knew how he was. She was in awe of his restraint.

Her heart clenched now. How could she have done this? The very reason she hadn’t wanted to do anything with either of them was because she was trying to figure her stupid heart out. She knew that one of the phrases the priest at her church always said about hardship was “If the Lord can lead you to it, the Lord can lead you through it.” But how was God supposed to lead her through this? How could she have faith that this was his plan, for her to have her heart split between two men? To know that choosing one would be like cutting off a piece of her very soul?

But she was… well maybe not only human, but definitely just a person. She couldn’t help who she fell in love with, couldn’t stop her traitor’s heart from picking up pace thinking about how she could keep both. 

She didn’t deserve either, though. And with that thought, she got out of her bed and roughly pulled on a pair of coveralls. She scraped her hair up into a ponytail as she walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth. 

As she stared at her face in the mirror, she began reciting to herself: Samuel, not Sam. He can’t be Sam anymore. Never again. 

Even as she recited, she still heard her heartbeat in her ears, felt Sam’s phantom touch on her skin. She still had him inside of her, and knew she was deliberately not showering so she could carry him with her for as long as she could, knowing that she never would again. 

_Samuel, not Sam. He can’t be Sam. Not ever again._

She didn’t see the note he’d left on the fridge as she raced out the door, stomach too tied up in knots to want breakfast. 

She wouldn’t see it until later, and by then all it would do is make her feel more confused than she already felt. By then she would know about Adam.

**Author's Note:**

> this is part one of two, and then we will move on to another interstitial. can you guess whose perspective? i'll give you three tries.
> 
> thanks for being patient with me <3 *mwah* that's a kiss for you bc this year's been a doozy so far and the fact that people even read this at all makes me wanna cry.
> 
> i hope you enjoy! we haven't even gotten to the real depraved part yet!


End file.
